The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [50]
The blonde laughed harshly and pushed up the sleeve of her sweater. There were bruises on her forearm.
“How did it happen?” Ramona asked.
Nervously eying the office door, the blonde shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, pointing to her face. “It hurts too much.”
“Sorry.” Ramona returned her attention to the application. The blonde sat on a leather ottoman that had been used as a prop in some of the photographs on Bedlow’s wall.
“I’m Ramona,” she said when the blonde looked at her.
“Sally.”
“Are you a model?”
“Yeah. You gonna take the course?”
Before Ramona could answer, Bedlow appeared, and Sally stood up.
“I gotta see you now,” Sally said.
Bedlow’s voice dripped honey. “Of course, dear girl. Come in.”
Sally flew by Bedlow into the office.
Bedlow smiled sweetly at Ramona. “My photographer can take you right away. Will that do?”
“Oh, yes,” Ramona replied. She dropped her voice to a whisper and glanced at Bedlow’s office. “That poor girl.”
“It’s very unfortunate,” Bedlow replied. “Come back with the proof sheets after lunch.”
“I haven’t finished the application,” Ramona said, hoping she could stick around and do some eavesdropping.
“Don’t worry about it now,” Bedlow replied rather shortly, holding open the front door.
“Okay,” Ramona said cheerily. “See you in a little while.”
She made her exit and memorized the license plate on Sally’s car as she passed behind the vehicle.
Raised in Albuquerque, Ramona knew the city well. Bedlow’s photographer, Thomas Deacon, worked out of his home in an older neighborhood of postwar Southwestern-style cottages near Carlisle Boulevard. The house stood out as the only one on the street with a neglected front yard. A converted garage with a private side entrance served as the studio.
Deacon met Ramona at the door and gave her the once-over. She did the same to him, keeping an eager smile plastered on her face. He was in his forties, tall, with a straight, narrow nose, a long chin, and wide, down-turned lips. He had long hair pulled back in a ponytail and wore jeans and a lightweight cotton sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
He was hard looking in a way that some women found exciting. To Piño he seemed like a middle-aged white guy who needed to be seen as hip, cool, and on the fringe. In Piño’s experience, the kind of man who usually turned out to be an emotional adolescent.
“Yeah, come on in,” Deacon said.
Ramona caught a whiff of marijuana as she stepped inside the studio. She checked his pupils; they were slightly dilated.
“Proof sheets only, right?” Deacon said.
“Yes,” Ramona said brightly. “That’s what Ms. Bedlow wants.”
Deacon grabbed a camera from a table, turned on some stand lights, and pointed at a white screen at the back of the studio. “Go over there and try to do what I tell you.”
He adjusted the lights, circled around her, gave directions, and took a bunch of head shots.
“Do you just do studio work?” Ramona asked, tilting her chin up.
“Hold still,” Deacon said, clicking the shutter. “No, I do a lot of location work.”
“That must be fun.”
Deacon gave her a sarcastic look. “It’s work. Loosen up, will you?”
“Sorry,” Ramona said. “I bet you get to see a lot of exotic places.”
Deacon snorted as he backed away. “Oh, yeah, lots of exotic places. I’m gonna need to take some full-body shots. Lose the skirt and sweater.”
Ramona stifled a desire to protest, pulled off her sweater and stepped quickly out of her skirt.
“Not afraid to show your body,” Deacon said approvingly, reaching for another camera. “That’s good. Bend over and put your hands on your knees.”
“Do you do a lot of location work for Ms. Bedlow?” Ramona asked, showing her cleavage.
“All of it,” Deacon replied. “Pout for me.”
Ramona pouted and Deacon fired off a bunch of frames. He put a straight-back chair in front of the screen. “Sit, spread your legs, and press your arms against your breasts.”
“Like this?” Ramona said, assuming the position.
“Yeah. Now, look tough. Can you do that?”
Ramona put on her cop face.
“That’s good.” Deacon took shots